


Extracts from the diary of Marian Halcombe

by emily_in_the_glass



Category: The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
Genre: F/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emily_in_the_glass/pseuds/emily_in_the_glass
Summary: "I will feed these pages to the flame once I finish spending ink on my own folly."  Extracts from Marian's diary, excluded so as not to hurt Laura.  A Walter/Marian relationship that remains largely faithful to the book.





	Extracts from the diary of Marian Halcombe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



I.  
  
_Limmeridge House._

  
"Women can't draw--their minds are too flighty, and their eyes are too inattentive. No matter--my sister likes it; so I waste paint and spoil paper, for her sake, as composedly as any woman in England." So I said to Hartright, the new drawing-master, upon his arrival this morning.  
  
I write here in my journal to calm my unbridled satisfaction in my uncle's choice in his new hire, aided by the efforts of the good Professor Pesca. Hartright is of similar age to myself, of admirable character, and doubtless in possession of that rare sensitivity that only a man who has made it his life's work to practice art can cultivate. Such a sharp intellect I have sorely missed in this household! I shall speak no ill of my uncle, who has opened his home to an orphaned woman who has no claim on him. Mr. Fairlie is a man of letters, erudite and fastidious in his tastes and fine acquisitions, he has generously offered me every advantage of dress, books, art, and dining since my step-father's death. And yet his nervousness has rendered his opinions more acrid than ever. To pursue intellectual discourse with Mr. Fairlie would excite his nerves and provoke his prejudices. I am seldom in his presence, and I daresay this arrangement suits us both.  
  
Dear Laura and I are, of course, all the company either of us we shall ever want, and yet there are things I can never speak of to Laura. These thoughts are but trifles: my blithe epithet about the futility of learning to draw is one such errant thought. Still, it is a pleasure to confide my thoughts to someone other than my own inanimate journal. For Laura's sake I have trained myself to be ever of good humour so that when she is overcome by her own unaccountable sorrows, I can tease a smile back onto her face -- for a face such as hers was meant for naught but joy and sweetness.  
  
But in good Walter Hartright I have finally found my intellectual match, and my excitement at the prospect of his companionship for the next four months is greater than any woman of propriety ought to have. There, now that I have poured out my thoughts in my journal, I will compose myself.  
  
II.  
  
I have been sadly distrustful of myself, in this difficult and lamentable matter. I ought to have known that the delicacy and forbearance and sense of honour which drew me to poor Hartright, and made me so sincerely admire and respect him, were just the qualities to appeal most irresistibly to Laura's natural sensibility and natural generosity of nature.  
  
Let me be frank: I will record here the sinuous thoughts that have possessed me ever since it has dawned on me what trying circumstances that we have become sadly entangled in. My deceitful schemes and imaginings are not fit for anyone to read, and I will feed these pages to the flame once I finish spending ink on my own folly.  
  
When I saw Hartright's attachment to Laura, I felt no jealousy: on the contrary, it was her birthright that men should worship her fairness and sweetness. I have never presumed my own wit could rival my sister's angelic grace. Nay, I thrilled for Laura! Should Walter Hartright's hand brush hers while he corrected her grip of her paintbrush, should dear Laura's rose-leaf cheeks grow pinker still at how his face bent near hers, my own heart quickened. I thrilled for our afternoons of perfect happiness spent in the sweet air of our north-country lakelands.  
  
But for all my lack of presumptuousness, for all my keen awareness of the differences between my sister's station and my own, I am, alas, not immune to romance!  
  
It has not failed to cross my mind that Hartright and I are not only well-matched in mental prowess, but also in material circumstances. Should Walter Hartright turn his attentions to me, no one would look askance. There would be no questions of class and rank. There would be no awkward questions of breaching existing engagements.  
  
Could Walter Hartright turn his attention to me? To this bold, presumptuous, thoroughly unladylike question, my answer is -- an unblushing -- yes!  
  
He is a young man, and like all young man, undoubtedly prey to his own stirrings. You may blame me for having read more books than any respectable woman should have, to be knowledgeable in such matters. His lovelorn eyes trail Laura's figure as a stag would seek a doe, never dishonouring her with his gaze. But at times, such as when he returns to the dining room after a swill of wine, before his eyes refocus, they linger on my form. I can feel the heat rise in my bosom under such an examination. I dare not look into his eyes to read the admiration there.  
  
I have at times senselessly wandered past the window of his studio to steal glances at the artist at work. The deftness of his handiwork is mesmerizing. I know with what passion he labours over my uncle's paintings. I cannot shake the feeling that, were I to enter, surprising him at his work, we would pass many a pleasant morning talking of kings and cabbages, of art, of a shared understanding that goes beyond friendship.  
  
Enough of my folly! I have devoted myself to Laura, and I long resigned myself to a life spent pleasantly as her spinster sister. Let no man, real or imagined, ever separate us! She cannot live without me, and I will not live without her.  
  
III.  
  
I took upon myself the difficult task of telling Walter Hartright he must leave us.  
  
The mysterious events that have since transpired in the day before his departure are too involved for me to detail now. Investigations had to be undertaken, and in these matters we were both of the same mind. Never was I more grateful to have Walter's shrewd investigations and stalwart sympathy to depend on. We shall miss him sadly.  
  
"Have I deserved that you should write to me?" he asked in parting.  
  
I could not help myself. I called him Walter, and I took his hands in mine and kissed his forehead! For a moment, I thought my eyes betrayed what I wanted him to see.  
  
"I had better not stay for both our sakes." I said, wondering what had overcome me. And yet I am shamelessly glad -- glad! -- that I had allowed my womanly nature come to the fore only this once.  
  
IV.  
  
_Fulham._  
  
Our situation in Fulham affords me little time to write in my own journal. My poor hands have grown so callused from labour that it pains me to hold a pen save for necessary correspondence (of which there has been plenty, mired in investigations as we are, but I have not the energy to detail those troubled proceedings here). Ever since my mother married Mr. Fairlie I have enjoyed a gentlewoman's advantages, but -- thank the Lord! -- I have not forgotten how to do a woman's work.  
  
Laura takes this to heart so, that sweet and frail as she is, we will not allow her to help in the house. It would break Walter's heart to see her bend her lithe figure in hard labour, and neither Walter nor I will let her ruin her soft hands for our sake. We will only have her grow strong again, for to see Laura back to her own sweet self will bring us more joy into our lives than any material contribution.  
  
Still, she is wont to say to me: "Soon Walter will like you better than he likes me, because I am so helpless!"  
  
I am never too tired to summon all my cheer for Laura. I soothe her sweet, nervous head and plait her hair and tell her Walter loves me as a sister and he is as dear to me as the brother I never had. I speak only the truth. In our new, purposeful life, Walter and I understand each other perfectly. Our minds run like clockwork in perfect accord. With both practical work and investigative work upon us there is certainly no time for me to be romantic. I want Walter to give all his love to Laura. An entire lifetime of the true love of a good man is no less than what she deserves.  
  
V.  
  
_Dunwich._  
  
My utmost wishes have been answered!  
  
We arrived here in Dunwich three days ago for our small holiday. The gentle roar of the sea seemed to wash away our cares, for Walter opened his heart to me tonight. I urged him gladly on his way.  
  
My heart swells with joy as high as the rising tide to be in their radiant happiness. They are to be married in ten days.  
  
  
VI.  
  
_Fulham._  
  
Laura made a strange suggestion to me not long after her wedding night, an orthodox idea that she would not loosen from her nervous head. Her resolve runs thus: that I should have someone to love me, that selfish as she is to want me by her side always, she cannot allow me to resign myself to spinsterhood for her sake.  
  
"It pains me, Marian, that you should not have the happiness that I have!"  
  
"You give me all the happiness I want, my darling." I told her, kissing her forehead. "I will never be separated from you again."  
  
"Yes, nor I. But it pains me that --" here she blushed deeply, not knowing how to put the delicate matter into words "that there is no one to love you as you deserve to be loved."  
  
Here she dropped her voice below audibility. Even knowing her every mannerism, I thought my ears deceived me.  
  
"Suppose Walter were to love you, too? Dear Marian, I truly believe -- and would not mind one bit -- that he could love you too."  
  
Here I flushed so deeply that, for once in my life, all my words failed me. We spoke nothing more of the matter.  
  
Now that Laura's identity is restored, she spoke to me again on the same matter. Then Walter found me alone and tried to apply to my reason. These two -- dearer to my heart than life itself! -- claimed their affection selfish. Surely I could not be permitted to spend my life in devotion to them!  
  
I told Walter so in no uncertain terms that we three are everything to each other.  
  
In response, he embraced me. The sensuousness of his embrace took me by surprise.  
  
"Marian, understand this." he said, holding me fast. "I respect you more than any woman in this world. It is far beyond either of our characters to take liberties that would debase our perfect esteem for one other. But Laura wishes that we love each other as well as we love her. Will you humour her in this whim as in so many others?"  
  
In the name of propriety I will put to pen no more.  
  
We three are everything to each other and more. There can be no parting between us till the last parting of all. My heart and my happiness are with the two I love best in the world. Of life and all the good fortunes it has given me, I ask nothing more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to chocolatepot and sigaloenta who provided beta reads with an astounding Victorian sensibility. :)


End file.
